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The Poetry of Thinley Tharchen
POET’S BIO:
Hello, I am Thinley Tharchen, a resident of India. Although I am a professional working in the power sector, a love for poetry has led me here to The Writing Forum. I admire the poetry of T.S. Eliot and W.B.Yeats and feel that all great poetry is a song of the human condition well crafted.
Thinley’s Email: thinley123@gmail.com
POEMS BY THINLEY THARCHEN
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 In Search Of An Ear
Who am I?
On Space
My Fancies, Blake, True Love and Passion
Youth and age
The token of love
The Water
To Shine The Sun In You On Me
True Beauty
A Love Song
Within My Thoughts
The Child
Dilution my pool affords
To Time
A Dedication (To The Writing Forum)
Seven (#1.“Pride”)
Seven (#2.“Envy”)
Seven (#3.“Wrath”)
Seven (#4.“Greed”)
Seven (#5.“Sloth”)
Seven (#6 ”Lust”)
Seven (#7.”Gluttony”)
In Search Of An Ear
"But naught they heard, for they were always
listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping"
~William Butler Yeats
Struggle said to Complacency,
"Pray listen to my deepest cares
And struggles to look into
Morality's eye without a blemish".
Complacency must have forgot
When last he looked into her eyes
And like any other self did assume
A fairer if not an excellent make.
Borrowed wisdom called upon to
Attend assumed fairness brought
With him a series of do's and don'ts
And not faith that good listening affords.
How quickly have the tables turned
He journeyed to find an ear only to be,
Made an ear for the others and now
Is led to listen for having been listened to.
And such a waste of breath this is,
Sincere talk begins to die away
Seeing he speaks to uncaring ears,
While insincerity talks caring none
For he at last has found an ear
And care how much this ear for him,
It be enough for him that it receive
All his songs of glory he has to sing!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Who am I?
I am just a bunch of living My Concerns,
Just a bunch of sleeping Our Concerns,
Just a bunch a dead Your Concerns.
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
A Dedication
(To The Writing Forum)
Of what use the beauties of nature be,
If no eyes are pleased about what they should see,
If all her creations are bound to self alone
And too involved to make others their gifts known.
Maiden, of what use your beauty be,
If it invites no blushes on seeing thee,
If upon your beauty Pride should reign,
And make even true love long for you in vain.
Music, of what use be your melody,
If it holds no soul in rhapsody,
If it cannot alive feelings dead,
And on paths forgotten make them tread.
Life, of what use be your vitality,
If we be favorites of Calamity
And unable to rise above the state of things,
Can only look forward to what chance brings.
Of what use the musings of a poet be,
If he had found no souls to share with glee,
If his every thought from birth to death,
Stifled within ran short of breath!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
On Space
Space must give way to the form of life,
Life moves about this space stopping only
Before the encounters of forms like him,
The warmth of the sun kisses the face of space
And he blushes filled with joyous warmth,
The raindrops falling through space moisten him
Before being drunk by the thirsty earth,
The breeze that blows is space in motion
Speeding to some distant call and amidst these
We hop to and fro, he always giving way to us.
The stains of vice or the sweetness of virtue
That we leave behind dissolves into this space
And begins to give him a heavier or lighter make,
And when Death does descend crippling all motions
We leave behind a form to be engulfed by the fire
That temporarily sustains our will before it too gives
Way to a more forceful space swept by an infant cry
Who is left on his own to define himself amidst
A heavier or lighter make of space!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
My Fancies, Blake, True Love and Passion
My fancy lies near by me
In all her fanciful self and
I try hard to use reason to
Hold back an impulsive look.
I assume to look somewhere
Yet every motion of her muscle
I feel from here, for I have lost
My attention to my fancy she.
The voice of Blake from within
Chides me to "Bind no more a joy
For you would the winged life destroy",
But try as hard as I may I cannot let
This attraction to stay on it's own
Without some emotion from within
Rushing forth to cling to it as they
Be too quick to be caught and confined
By reason and they lie where she does,
Whereas heavy reason stays by me.
A pathetic figure I make as Reason
Tries to bring my Emotions back, for it
Never seems to come for unlike that
Wise Blake whose mind and heart sought
For Truth in unison, my mind it longs for
Truth, my heart it speeds to my fancy.
II
My mind's eye can fathom
A love free of all passion for
It can in those rare moments
Know the language the saints speak,
My voices also keen to distinguish
Itself by utterances of this kind and
My ego does not mind a few tripping
To abide and hold by my utterances,
But of what use are these than paint
An impression of myself on me and
Others around for I am mortal and
Am conceived of Passion, sustained
By Passion and drunk with desire look
Upon most moments with the crude eye,
That seeks not to reason out any other
Form than what it can see in mirrors
Reflecting not reasoned beauty but external make
And then my mind's eye sees no more,
The language the saints spoke are heard no more
And I am once again that Passion that seeks
To meet or drift away from what appears to the crude
eye!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Youth and age
When youth steps into that
Channel of continual change that time be,
He cannot see that at the end of it
Age heads for the shore stripped of all his early glory.
Youth resolves to resist that current of change
Believing he could hold continual sway,
By using all his throbbing vitality to build
A fortress to keep him safe from change.
He believes that the gifts this channel holds,
He could seek and treasure them
And that he could carry them with him,
In all glory towards the shore.
But he fails to realize then
That he and his gifts cannot resist,
Those momentry deaths that so infest
This channel and destroys the fortress he has built.
So those thoughts, those emotions, those presumptions
And those gifts they die or scatter about,
Leaving him to that realization that dawns one day,
That he be nearing his end with nothing more than he himself.
©thinley tharchen
The token of love
The gift, that beautiful shoe
It lay beneath her seat,
It lay uncared for by it's owner
Who seemed absorbed in thoughts deep.
Yet my self could not help consider
How once it must have been a token of love,
When both he and she were together
In that moment when hope bloomed.
Now with more tougher trials ahead
They both contemplate upon the distant future,
But beneath the anxiety they both hope
That things would change for the better.
And yes my self will pray
That they both never fall apart
And that someday that token of love
Shall they look upon with fondness apart!
©thinley tharchen
The Water
How my self longs to be like the water,
Embracing all objects calmly as in their reflection it holds,
Giving them the pleasure of seeing themselves,
Hold such important sway over the holder himself,
And yet content to let go with no longing to hold
Receiving all things new with just the same regard,
The same openess that's devoid of all feelings of attachment.
©thinley tharchen
To Shine The Sun In You On Me
To set free the petals of the rose bud
You need nature's caring resolve,
To set free the playful me from my inhibitions
My self it needed your support.
Across the boundaries between the two states,
That of constrained action and spontaneous freedom,
There lies a channel of my conscious presence,
Into which my self often drowns unable to swim across.
Thanks to you that drew the bridge
To let me tread over to you,
And welcome me into your expanse
To let me feel the joy your kindness brings.
Shall always remember this day with fondness apart,
That once my self it had a battle fought
To release itself from the conscious self
And won that day when you chose to shine the sun in
you on me!
©2002, thinley tharchen
True Beauty
True beauty it must surely be
Something more than what pleases the eye,
For unlike that shapely form its appraisal
Shall not be limited to those with sight alone.
Its essence must be the same
Admist light or darkness around,
The feelings it invokes must surely not be
From those regions of passion subject to want and
wane.
It's not confined to that one form
Nor captured in that one moment,
For both form and moment they be
Subject to the decay that time tends.
Its expanse must surely be not confined
Within the smallness of our scheming minds,
But it's embrace must be surely felt
In all acts of love and compassion selflessly dealt!
©copyright, thinley tharchen
A Love Song
The flowers of spring
Have withered and died away
And though this self of mine be
Like any other subject to time's decay,
Yet your beauty still reigns in my mind
With as much freshness as the moments thought.
If the hands of time have
Journeyed with as much resolve,
To extend the distance between you and me
So has my faith nourished the seeds of love
With a mother's caring resolve to hold you now,
With as much regard as I ever did hold you.
Meekness has been my foe
Wearing his heavy coat of pretension,
I am burdened by fear of opinions around
And fear to proclaim my love to you,
But let me pray that in a thousand years from now
When there will be no you, no me and none
Of the opinions that I fear
And life shall spread its hues all over again,
Over my grave let it spread all hues of fear
For they shall find much company there
And let some spirit brighter and nobler than mine,
Live to win over some beauty like you!
©Copyright
thinley tharchen
Within My Thoughts
Within my thoughts you lie,
Your image cast in forever beauty,
Not beauty that's frozen in time,
But beauty that graces life herself.
You dwell in places where Fate commands you,
You also dwell within my thoughts,
You live on my emotions inside of me just as real,
As air on which you live outside of me.
With such intensity you live within me,
That even Death shall confound on which one to strike,
Should it ever seek to strike on you
And then will I pray it strikes me and lets you,
Grace life for a hundred more years.
©Copyright
thinley tharchen
The Child
We all adore the child
And take pleasure at his innocent ways,
But is it just innocence we adore in him
And not his helplessness that makes him
A plaything of our passing fancies?
His lack of say that make him
Abide by our precious convictions?
His show of insecurity that makes us
Feel our inestimable worth to him?
Is he so precious to us because
He is someone who negates the oppositions
We face in the adult world, by his helpless demure
That always abids by our every passing whim?
©copyright, thinley tharchen
Dilution my pool affords
Upon the mid-day sun
We dare not to stare,
Or else shall we be blinded
By the fury of those intense rays,
But to its reflection in a nearby pool
We stare as long as we may afford
And thus too for people around
We have a pool each one of us,
Into which we cast their reflection
Taking the fury of their I away
And making acquaintance so pleasurable
Thanks to the dilution my I affords.
©copyright, thinley tharchen
To Time
If any ideal of passion there be,
Then surely must this Time be,
For none can both Joy and Sorrow see,
With such a constant beat as he.
Though Joy shall make him less felt,
While Sorrow shall make him more,
Yet with no respite his strikes are dealt,
How ever much our emotions may implore.
Before noble birth or lowly death,
Before conquests great or losses dear.
He holds a constant measure, a constant breath,
And leaves behind only a few memorials to bear.
Though ever changing his nature be,
Yet over all things great or small,
With the same constancy his eyes does see,
For he be the one on which no unfairness can ever call!
©copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#1."Pride")
No emotion has more abundance,
No emotion more attachment,
To no emotion we owe our conflicts
Than to the emotions of pride.
With nature's gifts they come
And so with fortune's favors
With every act their seeds are sown,
With every achievement their flower's bloom.
With a little more things we own,
With a little more authority we gain,
With a little more education we buy,
Pride comes as a bonus for free.
Stirring turbulence in calm emotions,
It sinks the ship laden with the other's worth
And propels it's own to an ocean,
Of false immortal goodness and calm.
No matter what web you weave
To keep him out yet it still finds a way,
Perhaps our celebration of life itself
Is pride in our will to survive!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#2."Envy")
Child of Discontent and mother of Malice,
These dark clouds of envy sweep across
The fair playground of human emotions,
Scaring them all away to reign supreme.
In the storm that soon ensues
Love shall dare not venture,
Lest he shall be struck dead
By the light of the other's brilliance.
The downpour of malice the storm brings,
On finding no channel to let itself out,
Lets loose a flood into which,
Contentment's drowned meeting his end.
The thunders in the storm have struck deaf,
All calls from Compassion and Kindness,
The only roar that can be heard
Is from Discontent, over the other's good.
But in no storm the blessings of nature bloom,
In no storm the seeds of joy are sown
And so in this storm too, the warmth of our goodness
Is driven forever by the coldness of our evil.
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#3."Wrath")
Upon the piles of self-pride
That we have so proudly stacked,
Circumstance provides Discontent as the fuel
And Rebuke the spark to ignite it.
The flames of anger that burn,
Sway not to Reason but Passion alone
And brings with it an oppressive heat,
That shall devour any soul that confronts it.
These flames shall not die out so quickly,
For they live on supplies on pride
Which we have much in reserve,
To last till much destruction's done.
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#4."Greed")
Greed, your path does hold many charms
And the more my self does tread on it,
The more it reveals to me riches
That urge me tread a little further.
Along this path no fading flowers dwell
But artifices bloom with a youthful charm,
There be no mournful processions here
But confident strides with an important air.
At every turn it offers new friends,
Their company so hard to dislodge,
First Pride then Respect servile,
Then Praise and Fame both bought.
And thus lost in a desire
To make more things I already have,
And forgetful that these friends riches bring
Have no lasting value, I take another turn.
But alas! This time there lay no path ahead
But a deep chasm with riches within,
Without a thought I leap into it
Hoping to find those friends, I now cannot live without
Only to get trapped within and make my deathbed a
golden one!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#5."Sloth")
Contentment, you make yourself so easily found today,
My self ever keen to welcome you enjoys,
The pleasures your presence brings along
And Sloth ever keen to find a dwelling,
Shall make haste to live with myself today.
So with him he brings Complacency his wife,
Together they make good husband and wife,
She defends him when Industry his foe appears
And he makes sure she's with him forever,
By adorning her with a necklace of the choicest praise.
On the occasion Apathy their offspring's born,
They rejoice by banishing Industry forever
And makes themselves dearer to myself,
By numbing my mind with lusty dreams
And my body with more lusty comforts.
But when upon me with swiftness Poverty descends,
They soon find out that they have had enough,
They look for a much better dwelling
And despising their earlier home within myself,
Leave behind a barren me to defend my bareness!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#6."Lust")
When beauty that meets the eye,
Shall not fade from the mind
Conveying to my heart a rejoice,
But shall lay heavy upon it and
Direct all of my powers to meet it,
Leaving behind my heart in an anxious pleasure
It's then I know that lust does reign over myself.
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
Seven (#7."Gluttony")
Temperance reigns upon a blessed Land,
That's content to provide itself
With just its needful want,
Though it be fertile enough for more.
Pleasure's ride over Time here
Shall be no more than Temperance dictates,
But Pleasure the seeds of habit sow
Leaving the Land wanting for more.
So upon Pleasure's next ride to habit's call,
Contentment's more than providing needful wants,
The flowers of habit all over this land bloom,
The reign of Temperance is cast aside
And Gluttony hailed the new king!
©Copyright, thinley tharchen
 
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